


To Take Heed

by Haicrescendo



Series: What We’re Given [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Discussions of Past Abuse, Gen, Ozai is a terrible father, War Crimes, Zuko is trying his best, alternate universe— canon divergence, bison lite, hand waving canon because fuck it, he doesn’t get paid enough to put up with this bullshit, he’s just not sure it’s working, his best is a little special, local uncle surprised to find kid needs more therapy than expected, not much happens but it’s still important, oops it’s definitely child abuse, showing love through endless complaining, sorry y’all, zhao is a fuckhead, zuko is everyone who’s ever had to be polite to dickheads in a service job, zuko is trying really really hard to be good at existence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22105117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [“Snap your fingers at me one more time, and I’m taking them off,” Zuko snarls at him after being snapped at once too often. Zhao rubs a hand over his sideburns and eyes him.“Your uncle hasn’t taught you manners yet?”“Sorry,” he replies, not sorry at all, “Snap your fingers at me one more time and I’m taking them off, Admiral.” He sees Uncle’s warning stare and shuffles a pace backwards. He hates Zhao and Zhao hates him, and they both hate the stupid game they have to play of feigned politeness when really, they each want the other to drop dead where they stand.]Or,Zuko is tired of Zhao’s nonsense, an important talk about surrender is a long time coming, and the Siege of the North is an absolute mess.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: What We’re Given [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537510
Comments: 379
Kudos: 6191
Collections: Finished111





	To Take Heed

**Author's Note:**

> HERE IT IS.
> 
> Sorry that this took so long; I’ve had it written forever but the part after it took about a thousand years to write, and I feel like there have been so many stories written in between. I mean, it’s more like...4. Or something. Whatever.
> 
> HERE IT IS.
> 
> As always, if you enjoyed this please leave a comment and let me know! If you want to ramble at me or for some ungodly reason think I’m funny, I’m on tumblr @sword-and-stars.

* * *

Zhao is here because of course he is.

The man has been a nearly perpetual thorn in Zuko’s side since his banishment, and despite it all, Uncle  _ still _ hasn’t banned him from the Jasmine Dragon. Zuko tries to be reasonable about it, but he’s not entirely successful in his efforts; he gets it. He  _ really, really does _ , understands Uncle’s point that Zhao’s got a lot of ego and ergo a lot of extraneous words, and tends to run his mouth when he thinks he has the upper hand.

Zuko hates his  _ guts,  _ but he’s not stupid. Zhao’s ego makes for good intel.

He’s still really, really annoying.

“Snap your fingers at me  _ one more time, _ and I’m taking them off,” Zuko snarls at him after being snapped at once too often. Zhao rubs a hand over his sideburns and eyes him.

“Your uncle hasn’t taught you manners yet?”

“Sorry,” he replies, not sorry at all, “Snap your fingers at me  _ one more time _ and I’m taking them off,  _ Admiral _ .” He sees Uncle’s warning stare and shuffles a pace backwards. He hates Zhao and Zhao hates him, and they both hate the stupid game they have to play of feigned politeness when really, they each want the other to drop dead where they stand.

Also, Zhao’s stupid, giant ship always runs off the actual customers.

Zhao can’t stand it; Zhao knows that he and Zuko have the same mission, and he can’t stand that he’s gotten absolutely nowhere in it. Now having met the Avatar, Zuko’s doubly glad that the man has had so little luck.

Zuko simply can’t stand that Zhao exists.

“You should keep a better leash on your employees,” Zhao tells Uncle with a smirk like he’s told a great joke. Zuko  _ will not _ light his head on fire, as much as he wants to. He wants to  _ so badly _ . “Do go and brew a batch of the Huangying lily and try not to scald it this time.”

It’s for the intel, he thinks. They need it. Do it for the intel.

Zuko grits his teeth and gives a forced, tense incline of his head.

“That’s an awfully sad excuse for a bow.”

“You overstep, Admiral,” Uncle’s voice is suddenly sharp and warning, “Banished or not, Prince Zuko is still  _ your _ prince. Have you forgotten? My nephew has the excuse of youth; what is yours?”

Zhao looks like he’s been force fed a frog.

“Of course not, General Iroh. How could I ever forget? The Huangying lily,  _ Prince Zuko _ .”

Zuko  _ hates  _ brewing that stupid tea, and Zhao knows it. It’s ridiculously expensive and tastes like absolutely nothing. Zhao only orders it because it’s a pain in the ass to make and fiddly as hell. Understeeped and the color is brown instead of peachy pink, the flavor bitter. Overbrewed or scalded, and the leaves turn it black and it may in fact be poisonous. 

The only good thing about it is that he gets to go brew it in the back, and nobody cares if he stomps around and swears about it. Uncle gets better information when Zuko’s hiding out in the back anyway, so he tries to take his time.

“ _ Fuck this tea _ ,” Zuko grumbles with feeling.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Jee replies, straightfaced, and hands him the canister of Huangying leaves.

Almost three years of practice mean that Zuko gets it right the first time, and he aggressively does not put the free cookie that most customers get with a pricey blend on the plate. Assholes do not get a free cookie. Assholes are lucky that Zuko doesn’t lick the inside of the teacup before pouring the tea.

Zhao hardly ever even pays.

Eventually he has to drag himself back out with the tea, and he sets it down in the least resentful way he knows how before sitting down next to Uncle. He crosses his arms over his chest and flares.

“Nephew, Admiral Zhao was mentioning that he has a new point of interest in his search for the Avatar. The North Pole, Admiral?”

“Yes,” the man says. One word and Zuko wants to punch him in the neck. “He’s headed there looking for a teacher. He’ll be isolated and have nowhere to go.” Zhao looks gleeful at the thought; Zuko’s stomach twists. The idea of that kid ending up in this man’s hands makes him sick to his stomach.

“What does that have to do with us?” He asks.

“I’m glad that you asked,” Zhao says and ruffles for something tucked in his armor. He pulls out a scroll and passes it across the table to Zuko, who takes it, opens but doesn’t read it, and immediately passes it to Uncle. 

Uncle does read it, and his eyes and face go hard.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Zuko stomach gives another anxious twist.

“Exactly what it says,” Zhao replies. “Because this is such an important mission for our nation, we’re calling it a...well, I’d say it’s an all-hands-on-deck scenario. So I’ll be taking your crew with me.”

Zuko opens his mouth to say some bad words he learned from Teruko, but a hand on his arm brings him up short.

“Ahh, I’m afraid that I cannot allow that,” Uncle says,  _ pleasantly _ . “You see, when we left the Fire Nation, I always knew there was a chance we wouldn’t come back, and I wouldn’t dream of taking the best and brightest from our military. I’m afraid that our whole crew is unhirable in any other position. You understand. Dishonorably discharged, disrespectful of authority, cowardly, the list goes on.”

Zuko  _ does not _ grin.

“Total garbage,” he agrees. “Couldn’t fight the Avatar out of a wet bag.”

“So you see, as much as we would love to lend our aid to your expedition, they cannot be conscripted to you, as technically they are a civilian force. I can procure their records for you, if you’d like.”

Zhao goes pale, then red with fury, then pale again; his hands clench on the edge of the table.

If he so much as dents that table, Zuko promises in his head, the untouched Huangying is going in his stupid face.

“In that case, I would request that you accompany me instead, General. You may be retired, but as you were not discharged, nor were you banished—“ unlike some people, his tone implies, “—I must insist.”

Uncle gives another regretful little tut.

“This is awkward to say, but I cannot do that either. You see, a prince outranks a General, and Prince Zuko is my commanding officer. In fact…doesn’t a prince outrank an admiral, too?” Uncle rubs his chin. “Prince Zuko has been exiled, which means that he is unable to be conscripted or compelled. Our nation may not help him, and they may not accept his help. It’s very tragic, as I’m sure you would agree.”

Zhao is still and silent for a period of seconds, and then without warning he leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. Zuko jumps up a split second behind him, igniting fire daggers in his fists, a cold spike of ice going right up his spine.

“Stop fucking around, you arrogant little shit!” He roars across the table. “The Fire Lord should have done the world a favor and killed you when he had the chance. You’re nothing, do you know that? Nothing! You’ve always been nothing and you’ll always be  _ nothing— _ “

_ Splash _ .

Zuko sets down the empty cup. His hands are shaking with rage.

“My apologies,” he grits out between locked teeth, “I thought your hair had caught.”

Zhao’s face drips with Huangying lily tea and he doesn’t move. Zuko’s audacity has finally done what all the barbs and sharp remarks have failed to do: stun him into silence. Uncle’s face is unreadable as a stone.

Zhao’s cracked his table. He’ll pay for that. The tea can be on the house.

And suddenly the man’s a flurry of movement, leaping forward, hands outstretched towards Zuko’s throat, flames sparking off his fingertips, and all Zuko can see now is his father holding flame in his hands, he  _ flinches— _

“ _ Enough!”  _ That’s a general’s tone, and even Zuko, who so rarely hears it, freezes. Zhao freezes. Unknown to anyone else, Jee in the back freezes too. “Prince Zuko,  _ not one more word. _ Admiral Zhao, you are being goaded by a teenager and acting an embarrassment to your station.”

Shocked out of his fury, Zuko does not say one more word. 

“I think it’s best that you leave,” Uncle says frostily, “And think  _ very _ carefully of the garbage you come dragging through the door.” In one sharp movement he directs Zhao out the door and does not move or say a word until Lihon, peering out the window, gives the go ahead that the other man’s ship is leaving and pulled away. Iroh sighs and rubs his temples. Zuko is a statue of ice, frozen where he stands. “Nephew…”

Zuko shakes his head mutely, slowly; his hands are still trembling.

He can’t breathe.

Uncle steps towards him.

“Prince Zuko, are you alright?”

Zuko is not alright. Zuko is awful. Zuko hates Zhao, hates him  _ so fucking much _ , hates that he can send him back to that dark place so easily. All he can see is fire in his hands and the left side of his face throbs in sympathy. That old fear may never leave him, in the end. 

He practices and progresses and forces himself to face it all so that next time, if there’s ever a next time, Zuko can and will defend himself.

He might just always be a little bit afraid.

A hand sharply taps Zuko on his good cheek, and his vision stops swimming, and breath starts coming easier again.

“Are you alright?” Uncle is standing in front of him and both of his hands cradle Zuko’s cheeks.

The boy gives one deep, heaving breath, and then slumps forward to drop his face into Iroh’s shoulder.

“Fire and steel, Uncle,  _ I hate him so much _ ,” he hisses. He wants to sound angry, but in the end it comes out like he’s about to start crying instead. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep my temper together. But he's so  _ horrible _ .”

Uncle doesn’t waste time in wrapping an arm around Zuko’s shoulders and reeling him in, feels the tiny vibrating shivers running through his body even though he stands so still. 

Lihon, who did not earn his discharge by being stupid, flips the sign on the front door to ‘closed’.

* * *

The Avatar is going to the North Pole.

Of course he is. Zuko isn’t surprised because of course he needs to learn the other elements, and Katara, he’s learned, while rocking her fake-it-til-you-make-it vibe as good as he’s ever seen it, is not qualified. Water is next in the cycle and everyone knows that the Southern Tribe is short on benders these days. 

Short on people, in general.

Zhao’s got him rattled, and a rattled firebender is a dangerous one. Zuko forces himself to stop pacing and take a breath, hold, release, until the fog of panic lifts. 

He needs to warn them.

Aang is a kid who thinks the best of everyone, Katara wants Aang to get everything he wants, and Sokka…well, Sokka’s about the only one of them with any sense at all. Even so, they won’t be expecting someone like Zhao who doesn’t give a shit about anything that isn’t his own gain.

He won’t hesitate and he won’t be fair, and if they go in blind, Aang is definitely going to die.

Zuko cannot let that happen.

Zuko scrambles for paper and something to write with, scribbles out a missive in purposefully messy simplified characters that look nothing at all like Fire Nation High Court. He signs it “Li” and embellishes it with an abstract jasmine flower. It’ll do, he hopes, setting the paper out on his desk to let the ink dry. 

It’ll have to. 

Now’s as good a time as any to send out what he’d been working on and recently finished, Zuko decides. He fishes a basket out from under the desk and pulls out a cabled shawl, a hat, and a pair of socks, tosses them into a waxed shopping bag with a few handfuls of dried fruit that the bison go crazy for. Teruko had sent him a large batch of spun fur from Appa and it had gone far, and if anybody needs the warmth it’s people going to the godforsaken North.

Once his missive is dry, Zuko folds it and puts it in the bag too, folds the whole thing up and wraps it with string.

His heart still pounds, rabbiroo quick, with panic and a deep-seated dread that nothing short of seeing their survival with his own eyes will appease, but doing  _ something  _ helps.

Zhao doesn’t just have him rattled, he has him  _ shaken _ .

* * *

Sleep doesn’t happen. 

Zuko sends off what is definitely  _ not  _ a care package, despite what Uncle says, and throws himself into bed, and then proceeds to stare at the ceiling for the next five hours.

Zuko throws himself out of bed and pads, barefoot, down the halls and up the stairs and out into the main deck of the Jasmine Dragon. It’s a cool, clear night with only a few grey-purple clouds obscuring the darkened sky. Despite the fact that they’re now classified as a civilian vessel, it’s habit to maintain a night’s watch. Zuko finds himself soothed despite himself by the regular shadows doing rounds along the upper levels.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here.”

“Hi, Uncle,” Zuko says quietly and drapes himself over the railing. “You’re up late.”

“I was worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Zuko says, “I’m  _ fine _ .”

That’s bullshit and they both know it, but Iroh lets him hold onto his delusions for a moment.

“We’ve spent a long time on this boat together,” he says, finally. Zuko blinks at him. Where’s he going with this? “We’ve talked about so much over the years.”

“...Yes?”

“We’ve never talked about your father. And maybe we should have, but I never wanted to push you harder than you could handle, and there were so many other things to worry about, and you’ve done  _ so well _ . I never...well, I never wanted to ruin it for you.”

“We absolutely do not have to talk about the Fire Lord,” Zuko snaps, voice sharp and pitching.

“You can’t even say the  _ word _ , can you?”

Iroh’s statement lands hard, and Zuko can’t hold back the flinch.

“You were moving before Zhao even brought out flame,” Uncle says quietly. “You were expecting it.”

“Of course I was! Because he’s an asshole—“

“And because you’ve been injured before, and not just on your face.”

Zuko’s words die right there. He has nothing, is nothing, is just a fragile cloud of a heartbeat that’s going to float away and disappear if he moves or breathes.

“I always had suspicions,” Iroh continues, reaches out to wrap fingers in Zuko’s sleeve, as if afraid he needs to hold him to the deck. “I knew that he endorsed inappropriate treatment from your instructors. I knew that he was cold and uncaring, and that he only ever saw you and your sister as pieces to accomplish his goals. Your banishment, your Agni Kai, was a  _ convenience _ for him and nothing more—“

“ _ Don’t you think I know that? _ ” Zuko roars, ocean in his ears, vision tunneling to nothing.

The shadows of the night watch freeze and then disappear.

“ _ No _ , I’m not sure that you do!” Uncle’s voice is pleading and pained. Zuko just wants him to  _ stop _ . “You didn’t see your face when you thought that Zhao was going to strike you. I did. ...and he did as well. You were so  _ quiet _ when I returned from Ba Sing Se, years ago. Like a little ghost of yourself, and in my own grief I didn’t recognize it. I recognize it now.”

Uncle tightens his grip on Zuko’s sleeve.

Everything’s so fucking cold.

“We don’t...I don’t want to talk about it.” The boy’s voice is low and hoarse like he’s been screaming, as if the words have been dragged out of him. “You’re...you’re right, okay? Is that what you want me to say? That you’re fucking  _ right,  _ just like you always are? And if you’re right, that has to mean I’m wrong?”

“Zuko, no—“

“What was I supposed to do? If you know everything there is to know, what the  _ hell _ was I supposed to do?!”

Zuko’s not here anymore. He’s back in the palace in the caldera, smaller than he is now, and he  _ hurts _ all the time, because he’s so  _ pathetic _ that the Fire Lord’s decided to start throwing him into walls and putting him on the ground just because. He scrubs his hands over his eyes, rough. They come away damp.

“Uncle, what is the point in talking about this now? It was...bad. I won’t deny that. But it’s done, I survived. Isn’t that enough?”

And Uncle suddenly shifts, sharply brings his hands up and _out_ in a way that has Zuko taking a massive step back despite himself. Watches the hurt and yet resigned, accepting vindication make its home on Iroh’s face. 

“It took a long time before you were comfortable again with fire,” he says. “I thought it was normal; you’d been hurt so badly that of course you would have trouble. But he didn’t ever just hurt you with fire, did he?”

Zuko’s not afraid, not of  _ Uncle _ , but his body had moved before his brain could catch up and now he’s stuck in place.

“I wish you would have told me, but I understand why you did not.”

How can Uncle understand? Zuko doesn’t even understand. 

“What is the point of this? Did I do something wrong?”

And then Zuko’s being folded into a tight, warm hug. Uncle doesn’t seem to mind that he can’t make his body relax into it, just holds him anyway until the tension drains only to be replaced by tiny shivers that cannot be explained away by cold.

“The point is that I am an idiot, and I’m  _ sorry. _ ”

“What the fuck, Uncle, don’t be  _ sorry _ —“ Zuko manages to say into Iroh’s chest before he’s immediately cut off.

“I can, and I  _ am _ , so be quiet and let me be  _ sorry, _ ” Iroh orders, squeezes his nephew to gentle it. Despite his bluster, the boy’s trembling hard and his hands, once stiff at his sides, clench in the back of Uncle’s sleeping robe. “I should have seen, back then, and I didn’t. I should have seen before now, and I didn’t. So for once in your life, stop trying to make things better at the expense of yourself, and just  _ let me be sorry _ .”

Zuko drags in a choking breath and somehow it manages to turn into a dry, hiccuping sob. He’s not cried over this in years, and he’s determined not to fucking start now. He’s pretty sure that, like with most things in life, he’s going to fail.

“What was I supposed to do?” He whispers miserably. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You have done everything you were supposed to do,” Uncle tells him, running a hand through Zuko’s hair that’s falling loose from its braid. “It has nothing to do with what  _ you  _ were supposed to do. He should not ever have hurt you. Not ever.”

“...it was wrong, wasn’t it?” Zuko’s voice is  _ tiny,  _ and Uncle can barely hear him, even in the quiet. “During my Agni Kai, when I tried to surrender and he wouldn’t let me. He should have, right? I  _ surrendered, _ and he should have  _ let me _ .”

Iroh knows that if he cries, Zuko will avoid talking to him about his feelings for the rest of his life. But  _ spirits,  _ he wants to.

“Yes, child, yes; he should have let you.”

They’re both remembering the Western Air Temple, the tiny little skulls and tiny little bones. Some of them hadn’t been that much smaller than Zuko’s own at the time. Once, just once, the boy had asked why Sozin hadn’t offered the children honorable surrender, and Iroh had considered, at the time, broaching the subject of Zuko’s own.

He hadn’t, then, because Zuko had still been so fragile and balanced on a sword’s edge. Iroh hadn’t wanted to tip him when he wasn’t sure that he could catch him.

He hadn’t, then, and they’re both paying for it now.

Zuko’s not sure long he stands there clutching onto Uncle and trying desperately not to cry. It could have been minutes or hours, he’s got no clue, but eventually he’s walked back to his quarters and tucked into his bed. The last thing he’s aware of before he manages to fall asleep is a drop of water that falls onto his face, gently brushed away.

* * *

The moon goes out.

The ocean stills to nothing.

The moon returns.

* * *

Sokka’s letter is smudged and written hastily, with crossed out words and corrections.

_ Li, _

_ Thanks for the package and the intel. We didn’t know you cared that much. Aang can’t believe that you made him Appa-wear and sends his thanks. I’m wearing the socks right now, and my feet are grateful. _

_ Fuck, man.  _

_ I never want to come back to this place again. Just...shit. _

_ It was a mess, you know? I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t sent us that heads up about the navy, but it was a mess. _

_ This scary guy, Zhao, killed the moon. I’m sure you noticed a few nights back (I don’t know when you’ll get this, but hopefully it won’t take too long) but yeah, that was a thing. We lost a good friend. Aang and Katara are both fine but the chief’s daughter sacrificed her life to bring it back. _

_ You can’t tell anybody I said this, but I’ve never been so scared of Aang in my life. Not even when he’s been in the Avatar, you know? He gave himself to a spirit and it annihilated the entire fleet and I thought I was gonna piss myself or die or— _

_ Well, it’s over, anyway. That part. The point is, thank you, and that we’re fine. We’re leaving tomorrow to find Aang an earthbending teacher. I’ll be happy if I don’t come back here for a while. _

_ Tell Mr. Uncle we all say hi and hope you’re good. Pretty sure that Katara’s putting some sea prunes in with the letter. Uncle can make tea out of them. _

_ -Sokka _

True to Sokka’s letter, Zuko fishes a little bag of dried, black fruit out of the wrapping from the letter. He’s never even seen one before and it doesn’t look appetizing, not even a little. It looks kind of like a dried cran-cherry, though, so he shrugs and pops it into his mouth, chews for a moment…

And then gags, spitting it out immediately. 

* * *

_ Sir, _

_ The navy’s gone. All of it. _

_ Zhao’s dead. According to intel, he was taken by the ocean spirit. No tragedy on that end, but the losses are massive. _

_ Please advise. _

_ -Teruko _

* * *

Zuko sends one letter every year to the palace, addressed to Fire Lord Ozai. Just one, every year, right around the anniversary of his banishment. Just a few lines, that he’s not found the Avatar (not a lie), that he’s been looking to no avail (definitely a lie), that he wishes all the best for the glory of the Fire Nation (not quite a lie, not quite the truth. The current methods need a lot of work.). 

Never has Zuko received a reply.

He has a letter now. 

_ Prince Zuko _

_ Fire Nation Exile, _

_ I tire of your lack of progress and fortitude. The Avatar is a dangerous criminal who has mutilated and murdered almost our entire Navy fleet. Word has come to my attention that you are doing little on your part on behalf of your country to stop him and bring him to justice. _

_ Perhaps, if you cannot accomplish the task you have been assigned, I will have to give it to someone who can. Princess Azula has mastered the cold fire and needs the command experience that has been wasted on you. _

_ Perhaps, while she is doing what you are incapable, she’ll pay a visit to your uncle. It’s been so long since she’s seen him. _

_ Fire Lord Ozai _

_ Of The Caldera _

_ Supreme Leader of The Fire Nation _

Zuko drops the letter to the table with trembling hands. 

He feels lightheaded with what can only be terror; nothing else can sink into his bones quite like fear. Zuko has always feared his father from the moment he knew what fear was, and looking over the court-perfect, scribe written characters that Ozai couldn’t even deign to write himself, Zuko is  _ afraid. _

He stares at Sokka’s missive, so optimistic despite the horrors that they’d been through, looking forward with no idea what’s coming up behind. There’s Teruko, trying her best (and failing) at delicacy to figure out where he stands on what happened at the North Pole, and whether they should be worried.

And then there’s this, the most damning of all of them.

There’s too much to explain and not enough time to send Sokka back a reply. They may not believe him. They may think he’s overreacting.

If Aang faces Azula, he’ll underestimate her and she’ll let him.

If Aang faces Azula with no clue of who she is, he’s dead.

If Zuko fights Azula,  _ he’s  _ dead.

If he does nothing, he’s also dead, but worse—

He’s a coward.

Zuko releases a trembling breath and tips forward, resting his forehead on the table. It’s three hours past midnight and the shop, empty and devoid of customers, is eerily quiet. All he can see are those three sheets of paper set in front of him like accusations. 

Three choices he could make, three forks in the road.

Fool, traitor, coward; which does he choose?

Abruptly Zuko gets to his feet, folds the letters, slides them underneath Uncle’s bedroom door.

He has to go.

* * *


End file.
